


Tokens

by PromisesArePieCrust



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromisesArePieCrust/pseuds/PromisesArePieCrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning-after vignette. It is set after “He and She,” and could be considered a companion piece, but the tone is different. “He and She” is set after “Blood at the Wheel,” Season 2 Ep 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens

They had spent their first night together. It had been a night which wended from urgent to staid and loving. It had been a heady night.

Neither of them had spoken during their night together; some of this was borne of emotions which strangled the physical ability to speak, as well as the mental ability to create and respond to speech. Another part of their silence seemed more purposeful. Since banter was something inextricable to the way they existed as colleagues, as friends, even as they had begun to calm down as the night proceeded, it felt too reckless to offer dialogue to this new un-credentialed entity, like asking a stranger to hold your wallet. 

So the first words after their silent night together, as the grey dawn peeked into Jack’s window, were a soft and congenial “Good morning” from Phryne and a pent-up and earnest “You’re beautiful” from Jack.

They lay parallel, facing each other on the bed and were almost purposely un-entwined, each physique un-compromised by winding limbs with the exception of loosely joined hands. She felt embarrassed both at his words, and, she realised, to be naked and close to him while not amorously engaged. “You’re beautiful” was a completely common refrain in her intimate life, practically a comment on the weather, and she felt annoyance at feeling unaccountably flustered. She took a steadying breath.

“An unusual salutation, but I like it. I expect you to greet me thus henceforth.”

He watched with interest her embarrassment and her attempt to make his heartfelt comment ridiculous. While it stung, it also soothed him that she was unable to handle this with her characteristic aplomb, meaning, he believed, that the encounter had stirred and upended her as much as him. He had a half-formed thought about modernity and its irony and flippancy at the expense of depth of feeling. He stroked a bit of her arm with his thumb, and, eyes steady and serious, only spoke lowly: “I mean it. You look beautiful.”

From their earliest acquaintance, she had always considered that he was the one who wore a thick suit of armour. The idea that she wore any armour, possibly even more than he, and that she was really only uninhibited in specific sets of circumstances, made the ground shift. Her mind (and body) were only just recovering from the frenzy of the night, and this was a bit much to take in.

“Thank you,” she managed, and kissed him quickly and stood, walking to the chair which held her clothes. Too brightly she added “And now I shall go and greet the milkman. We haven’t spoken in an age, and we used to be quite close. I’ll just…” she trailed off as she worked to dress herself.

He tried to quell the feeling of disappointment, his worry that this had happened too soon and would not happen again. The whole evening had been a knot of confused thinking. She had chased him to his flat without understanding why, and he had let her in without understanding why. They had slept together without understanding why. For most of the night they had looked like newborn calves, soft-focused, big-eyed and innocently uncomprehending. 

She shot out of the bedroom and made her way to the large room near the door, while he floundered in the bedroom looking for his dressing gown. She took the opportunity to look around the large room, while letting images from the previous night surface. She felt a compulsion to steal something. She noticed his overcoat and quickly reached into the pocket. She searched without aim; she found a crumpled handkerchief, which she quietly slipped into her own pocket. He padded into the room to see her to the door, rubbing his eyes and trying to adjust his expectations.

“Sorry, I really must…” she started.

“Yes, of course, you must…”

“Well.” She looked down. She twisted the handkerchief around her finger in her pocket, paused for a moment of thought, then smiled, looked up, and gave him a gratifying, solid kiss.

“Might I come back tonight?” she whispered into the soothing fabric at his chest.

He blinked in surprise and nodded quickly before he was able to respond a tripping “Yes, I’d…yes.”

He closed the door behind her and went back to his room. He picked up her forgotten earrings, gently rubbing the curves which had been hooked through her earlobes.


End file.
